Six Sisters and the Blue Ledger on Oak Street

dining room, smelling faintly of roasted garlic and lemon. I looked at Diana, hoping to find a supportive glance, but she was staring down at her napkin.

“We all have moments where our memory slips a bit,” Beatrice added, her voice dropping to a gentle, sisterly whisper. “It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I am not losing my memory, Beatrice,” I said,continue reading …